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colberryTitle: Entwistle
Pairing: Aoi/Uruha, Ruki/Reita
Genre: Mystery, drama, romance
Chapter: 1/13
Warnings: Character "death" (you'll see), "time-traveling" and grittiness
Synopsis: In which time can bend, Yuu grapples for second chances and the simplest actions reap the largest consequences. He has twelve hours to save him.
Notes: Inspired by a very, very lucid dream. Here we go~
PART I
:.:.:
Yuu could feel ice licking at his heart, eyes blank and listless as the blonde-haired man slid the exotic Peacemaker across the table. His hands were numb, lungs frosting, as he absently took in the weapon’s frame of polished bronze. Gilded accents swept across its muzzle, and its ivory grip inlaid with precious stones – sapphires. Yuu pulled back the urge to bring his fingertips to his chest where the cold spot seemed to fester and spit. The same spot where the collector’s Peacemaker barrel was precariously aimed.
The pistol was world-renowned. The finest in its vermilion-slathered days before it had blinked out of existence. The engraving in precise calligraphy along the stock – Yet ye bring wrath – forever a ghost of a memory to the days of 19th century Japan. And yet here it returned – to stare menacingly down at Yuu’s already shattered heart.
He wanted to whisper to it, in a voice he still couldn’t catch in his throat, still raw with that broken scream, “You’re too late. I’ve already been slaughtered.”
“Dual action,” the blond man broke the metallic-laced silence, picking up the weapon with a gloved hand, “Not many like this little darling. I dare say it’s one of a kind – precious, even.”
The words were ominously light.
Matsumoto Takanori fondled the gun in his hands with a peculiar sort of reverence, as if it were a newborn – utterly fascinated and morbidly curious. Bloodshot, navy eyes scanned the sapphires, the ivory, flickering in interest. Finally, he laid it atop the table once again, barrel pointed towards the wall this time. Yuu eyed the man’s hand as it dug around in the pocket of his ironed blazer.
“Bullets seem to be keeping in theme with highfalutin opulence. Same text scratched into them too.” Matsumoto laid a bullet on the table, pointed towards Yuu’s throat, “They’re silver, you know. Fuck if I know why – not like werewolves were running around Kobe in 1872.”
Matsumoto’s dark eyes pierced the other’s catatonic stare, a black and mocking glint shining in the overhead light, “Then again, it’s designed for a fucking lunatic.”
Shiroyama Yuu sat across from Matsumoto, silently gazing upon the weapon. The acrid smell of scarlet almost made him choke; the odor of sulfur residue in the pistol’s chamber wafting in the small room. It was potent. Forever marking his clothes and staining his soul. He blinked, half-expecting crimson to appear along the ivory grip, a scream whistling through the barrel.
“What does something like this cost? Fucking seven, nine hundred thousand?” Matsumoto picked it up again, rolled out the cylinder, spun it ‘round like a conniving feline, the taste of prey already between his jaws, “This gun is just a rumor, or was. No record of ownership for around a century. How time fucking flies, right?”
Takanori Matsumoto’s calm darkness to his words made Yuu’s shoulders tense. The quiet authority and measured profanity crawled along Yuu’s skin, hissing and snapping.
“Where do find something like this? On the antique market? The black market? The hush-hush just-between-us market?”
Yuu continued to sit in silence, mind spinning and the taste of bile on the back of his tongue. His nails were sinking into the tender folds of his palm.
The door suddenly swung open, an apathetic looking man in a pinstriped suit toeing the threshold, “Matsumoto. We need you for a second.”
“Sort of in the middle of something, sweetheart.”
The elder man huffed, “Sorry, babe, but life sucks balls. With the plane crash, it’s the two of us, Suzuki and Naoyuki for this whole place. So, unless you’d like to get back to that field and start sorting through mangled bodies of mothers and severed-fucking-limbs of goddamn babies, you’ll get your scrawny ass out here.”
Takanori huffed with an eyeroll. He rammed the cylinder back into the gun, spun it once more with a look towards Yuu. His lips tilted into a smirk before laying it back down. He paused a moment, glanced at him with knowing eyes and grabbed the lone silver bullet.
“Don’t move, love.” Matsumoto’s smirk widened as he closed the steel door behind him.
Yuu finally inhaled, lungs burning, coughing and breathing in deep as if taking his first swallow of oxygen in three hours. The tight grip on his emotions was wavering, the ache pulsing in his chest with acute purpose. Even with the news crammed way back into the furthest corner of his mind, he could feel it gnaw at him, bringing him under. Palms slick with sweat and withered heart stuttering, Yuu closed his eyes tight.
Only to see – remember – the red, the scream
The mangled face –
Yuu opened his eyes, panting hard through gritted teeth. He tried to calm the disaster in his chest. Slowly, slowly. The bite in his heart tapered out – Yuu let his head fall, nose burying into the brown scarf Kouyou gave him on his twenty-seventh birthday. Late, of course.
-- Ripped wide open –
Yuu tore his face away from the warm yarn, hand clenching tighter. Desperate for a distraction, he looked around the confined room – clearly designed for (and succeeding in) creating anxiety. The metal table. The ornate, bejeweled gun. Two metal chairs. White wire-caged clock, ticking at 9:30PM. The walls were bare, stark white and glaring, save the two-way mirror.
The man staring back at him was hell. Black hair tangled, noir eyes caged and panicked, face gaunt and ashen. Red stain soaking his white sleeve. He was hell and pain and ripped-apart-broken-shattered.
He was Yuu.
With a shuddering breath, an intense agony began to strangle Yuu’s entire body – everything was hurt-hurt-hurt – gone.
Everything had stopped. Screeched to a halt bearing crimson tire streaks across Yuu’s world. The trembling in his hands hadn’t stopped in over the two hours before he got here. In this chair. Staring at this forever-gone-broken man in the mirror.
And for the briefest of seconds, he thought he could feel him, see him. Kouyou’s smile still etched upon his skin, above his heart.
:.:.:
Before
:.:.:
The weight of weeks’ tension felt heavy on Yuu’s shoulders. The barrage of business meetings, flights back and forth between Sapporo and Tokyo and less-than-desirable family members seemed never-ending – a blur of complication and frustration. Infinitely exhausted, he didn’t even remember falling into his bed’s emerald sheets. But he did remember waking up.
Lips just like the soft caress of a lily pressed against his chest. The soft touch of fingertips hovered along his ribs and Yuu could feel the smile on the hollow of his throat. He was in some delicious place between awake and dream. The white vertigo behind his eyes was pleasant – but the feel of breath against his cheek was even more so.
Yuu blinked awake, gazing straight into Kouyou’s laughing eyes – honey irises warm and teasing in the lazy light of noon. The younger had his auburn hair sloppily tied up, locks falling to frame his face and touch Yuu’s jaw. Kouyou’s smile widened, something hushed and here. Leaning over, hair sliding against Yuu’s cheek, he placed a chaste kiss to the corner of Yuu’s lip.
Kouyou wore the morning light and a Zeppelin shirt – hem resting on his thighs as he straddled Yuu’s hips, smile quirking into a mischievous smirk, “Morning, glory.”
Yuu laughed, a rush of air from his lips that Kouyou quickly captured with his own. Slow, slow, now. He murmured against the other’s cheek, “It’s the afternoon. You’re a bad influence.”
Kouyou nipped at Yuu’s jaw, making the elder arch back, exposing the swell of his throat for the younger to suck gently, “Says the man who gave me my first cigarette.”
Yuu gasped as Kouyou bit the taut flesh of his collarbone. Fingers immediately sought purchase in the folds of Kouyou’s shirt. He tugged on the collar, stretching the material tight. Kouyou hummed lowly, licking along the dip of bone, connecting freckles into constellations with his tongue. Yuu’s hands reached out as he closed his eyes – to cradle the curve of Kouyou’s neck, to hold the strong arc of his jaw, to tangle deep in his auburn roots.
The headboard trembled lightly, their thrusts slow and languid. Kouyou buried his face into the crook of Yuu’s neck, hiding in the knot of raven locks – midnight encasing him. And Yuu was gasping, clawing the younger’s back as they melded and fit and collided. The hands on his rolling hips traced lovely sonnets and silly hearts into his skin, all the while whispering, “So beautiful, everything – ”
And Yuu’s tempted to scream, to say, to whisper, to silently mouth: Keep me here, please.
But Kouyou hears him, even as they are both dying that sweet death – and holds him close, arms wrapping around and crushing their chests together so that maybe their hearts will kiss.
I’m right here.
The afterglow nuzzles them, the early noon sunlight cresting above, and the sheets are twisted around their ankles. Yuu’s breaths ruffled Kouyou’s hair as they lay intertwined. The auburn-haired man practically purred against the elder’s chest, arms still wrapped around him tight.
A handful of silence passed over before Yuu nudges his nose into Kouyou’s hair, “I need to get up. Shower. Work. Breakfast. Maybe breakfast first..”
The arms tightened, “You’re not moving.”
“The circulation situation is getting pretty dire.”
“But I’m so warm…”
“But you weigh like fifty tons…”
Kouyou pressed himself further against Yuu’s ragdoll body, playfully spiteful, “Well, if somebody would lay off cooking yakiniku every goddamn night…”
Yuu shifted so his forehead knocked into the other’s, “Well, yakiniku’s awesome so you can just run another lap around the block.”
Kouyou lifted his head, their noses bumping together.
“Or another lap around the sheets.”
The hands were creeping south.
Yuu laughed, pulling out an arm to push away Kouyou’s smirking face. He could feel the smile beneath his fingertips. With a last shove and chaste kiss to Kouyou’s jaw, Yuu untangled himself from the encasement of sheets and limbs – ducking into the bathroom before the other could pull him back.
Hair still damp from his shower, now dressed in a white shirt and dark-wash jeans, Yuu ambled out of his bedroom. The scent of something sweet and slightly burned pierced through his fog-ridden mind. Following the scent, knowing he most likely had to extinguish a small flame or two, Yuu poked his head inside the kitchen. Kouyou caught the movement and turned to him, wielding a spatula and a grin – the kind that took over his whole face, crinkling his nose and squinting his eyes and showing all his teeth.
With a small smile of his own, Yuu noted with muted shock that the house hadn’t burned down – and the food set innocently upon the table seemed edible, delicious, even. The assortment of tamagoyaki, natto and umeboshi beckoned with enticing odors – green tea already poured and waiting. Eyebrow risen and interest piqued, Yuu gingerly lowered himself into the proffered chair and stared as Kouyou served the meal, Cheshire grin still in place.
“Special occasion?” Yuu eyed the bubbling tea in askance.
“Can’t I just be a doting housewife and welcome my Yuu-shi home?”
“It’s not every day you restrain yourself from burning down the kitchen. Or my couch.”
Kouyou gave an exasperated sigh, but his eyes shone with mirth, “That was only once.”
The look in the younger’s eyes was warm, a spark igniting, but something else lingered – a fleeting moment of hesitation.
Yuu caught it. “What did you do?” He was already scanning the kitchen and adjacent living room for burn marks, holes, lewd drawings…
“Nothing.” But his voice and the slight dimple rising in his cheek, the one that only Yuu could catch sight of, said otherwise.
“…Takashima.”
“We’re going to that new club in Shinjuku tonight.”
Yuu snapped his head up from his bite of natto and furrowed his brow, “I thought we agreed on staying home and not getting sloshed and hauled up five flights of stairs. Oh wait. I mean you not getting sloshed and me not carrying you up five flights of stairs.”
“It’s not going to be like that,” Kouyou gave an innocent, disarming face, “I think you’ll really like this new one. Lots of fruity drinks.”
“Kouyou, I just had a fucking six hour flight. I’m not in the mood for traipsing all over the city, and dragging your drunken ass all the way home because of your insistence on serenading all the cabbies.”
“Again, that was once.”
Yuu began clearing his plate, the light feeling in his chest suddenly sinking, eyes roving over the plates, “I thought we made plans together, not for each other.”
“Yuu..” Kouyou looked away with a grimace, biting his lip. The sudden silence of Yuu’s back made his eyes lose their playful glint. He uttered quietly, cringing with each word, “We couldn’t get entry access until 9:00…”
The tension mounted, Yuu’s jaw clenching and Kouyou frowning as the silence stretched. Frustration gripped him finally and he clamored out of his chair to place his dish in the sink, walking to the door without a glance at Yuu, “It’s Friday night. I just wanted to go out.”
In a flickering spark of auburn, he was gone – leaving Yuu standing alone in the kitchen with his hand still clutching his chopsticks. He looked towards the empty threshold, heart pinching with guilt, but his fickle temper overrode it swiftly – a glare replacing his reproachful gaze.
It wasn’t like he abhorred going out, soaking in the neon lights, warming his chest with liquor. He enjoyed those moments of lost inhibition, tugging Uruha’s sleeve as they laughed down the avenues of ever-awake Tokyo. Stumbling, tears of mirth whisking down their cheeks and cabbies refusing to let them in. Wandering only down the streets that sounded pretty, throwing their hands up to try and touch the stars – pressed so close together until they forgot who they were apart from each other…
Yuu loved it as much as he hated when Kouyou nursed the lager too close, drowned himself too thoroughly. Slipped back into those old habits.
It hadn’t happened that recently, but with the exhaustion from his trip still smudged under his eyes, Yuu refused to take any chances tonight.
Yuu didn’t know how long he had been sitting in the living room before Kouyou was walking past him towards the door. He had shed the Zeppelin shirt for the smart attire of an attorney – dark slacks, crisp red silk shirt and black blazer. The sight humorously contrasted with Kouyou’s everyday garb – a plethora of mismatching socks, neon shirts and running shorts. But now, the black frames transformed the wildcard Kouyou into the even-tempered, man-of-business. The younger spared Yuu a glance as he adjusted his leather sling.
“I think we should cancel,” Yuu said calmly, voice tapering off into somewhat of a plea, “I really just.. want to stay home.”
“You’ll be home all day. You’re going to need to come up for air sometime.”
“Yeah. In my office. Working. Finishing that report. Sounds really relaxing.” Yuu had trouble biting back all the sarcasm. But Kouyou only rolled his eyes, too used to the other’s barbed tongue.
“Well, take a break and go for a run or something. It’s actually nice out for once. I’d really like to go out tonight, Yuu. Please? It’ll only be for a little while and we can even skip the Mr. Tequila contest.”
Kouyou’s neutral frown started to lift, that soft teasing poking through.
Yuu huffed with an almost-pout, too intent on ‘winning’, “Like that will make it any more bearable.”
“Just do it for me,” Kouyou said, walking to the door. “You never know, Yuu-shi. You might have fun – a foreign notion to you, I know.”
“What about me, Kou? I’ve been on too many planes to count these last few weeks and we both know how much I fucking adore flying. I’m lucky to know what prefecture I’m in…”
“Nine o’clock.”
“Kou, I – ”
“Nine o’clock.” A thread of anger laced Kouyou’s usually calm demeanor. He sighed as he walked out, “I’m late for work.”
“Fine, fine.” Yuu allowed his voice to raise, to echo pleasingly off the walls as the door slammed shut. The rawness in his throat was satisfying for a time. The frustration of being pulled across the country, only to be pulled across the city by his boyfriend, began to leak from his rigid bones. Yuu’s brow remained wrinkled.
And soon, the rage was gone. The fire in his temper fizzled out to the empty silence of his living room. It was hollow. Deafening. Yuu sighed, closing his eyes and massaging the bridge of his nose. He knew he should control that quick temper of his.. And to bicker over something so damn trivial after that beautiful morning…
Yuu opened his eyes and stared at the door. The regret coiled in his chest. There was always tomorrow to laze around at home; there was always Sunday.
Swallowing his pride, Yuu tried the younger’s cell phone, but was only met with incessant ringing and Kouyou’s monotonous machine. No answer. Straight to voicemail. And rightly so.
:.:.:
Now
:.:.:
The searing lights of the interrogation room flickered, dimming until Yuu could barely see his hands on the table in front of him. The small room briefly plunged into darkness before the overhead fluorescents sputtered back to life in a pale, yellow haze.
Matsumoto eyed the lights warily, “Sorry about that. The generator’s been nonstop for nine hours. It’s a damn miracle it’s made it this far…”
Settling back into his chair, the short-statured man tilted his head, navy eyes appearing amber in the strange lighting, “So. Hanshin Tigers or Yomiuri Giants?”
Yuu stared at him, drawing a blank and slightly amazed that the blond officer would ask such a trivial question now. A catatonic lullaby was whispering in his ear and the dryness of his eyes almost hurt. Baseball was the furthest thing from his mind.
“Tigers just got a grand slam in the bottom of ninth. Another fucking miracle; might just beat the Giants.” Matsumoto gave Yuu a fleeting glance, snorting at the other’s disinterest, and swung his arm around the back of his chair towards the second man who had joined them, “Suzuki, you owe me.”
The other man kept silent, a foreboding presence that lingered at the corner of the small enclosed room. He had his chair tipped back against the wall as he pushed a few strands of bleached bangs away from his hawkish stare. Though his frame was narrow, Yuu could see the solid muscle that lay hidden beneath Detective Suzuki Akira’s uniform. His jaw was clenched tight, cheek twitching at the pressure, and his slate eyes were narrowed in a cloud of fury; accusatory. The antithesis to Matsumoto’s easy charm, Suzuki had his arms crossed tight, already convinced of Yuu’s guilt.
Matsumoto ignored Suzuki’s stony demeanor, brushing off the elder’s fidgeting fingers, and pulled out a small recorder from his pocket. He held it out and hit play.
“Nine-one-one emergency?”
“My name is Takashima Kouyou,” Kouyou’s voice whispered hurriedly, “3-2-7 Roppongi, Minato-ku. I need someone here, please, my boyfriend and I – ”
The phone clicked off with a snap. “Hello?” The operator paused, her next words more concerned, “Hello, sir? Sir?”
Matsumoto clicked off the recorder. “That was at 6:42.” The silence felt heavy, so encompassing that Yuu’s shallow breaths felt deafening.
The shorter officer bid his time, watching Yuu with an alert eye. He watched his hands jitter and shake against the table. “May I ask where you were?”
And Yuu knew that his insides would crumble if he dared to open his mouth. The sob was waiting to caress his throat. To hear Kouyou’s low voice quake, to hear the tremble in his lips… He swallowed, the air dry and his heart shredded.
He could clearly remember where he was – still in his makeshift office working, where he had been for most of the day trying to catch up on his manuscript. He remembered – he could still see the exact line of text he had was reading when he heard the crack of a gun. The stark sound had ricocheted off his bones, got caught somewhere in his ribs. He had jolted, ripped himself away from his desk, knocking the papers to the floor. He had ran – through that agonizing haze of panic that made familiar surroundings blur to a smudge of color, sound and oh-god-where-is-he-please-please.
He clamored into the living room, through the kitchen, to the genkan, where the back door to the garage hung wide open.
:.:.:
Continue to PART II